10-07-2011, 04:01 AM
(10-03-2011, 07:03 AM)Heslopian Wrote: We have held Dante at night,
tended Cromwell's brow.
Fed and clothed a thousand bards,
told Napoleon kind lies.
Behind the scratching of the quills,
once the smoke has cleared,
we invisible angels pass the time
by picking up our generation's waste.
We don't have time to mourn, can't weep.
The bowers must be clean tonight
so we can usher in the next phallic gurdians.
War and creativity belong to those we serve,
wear these slender corests for, spread our legs
like grim machines. But we can wait milleniums
until our hearts are seen.
Women always have picked up the shrapnel of history and fashioned it into something or other for it (history ) to limp its way along the road.
The poem made me think of the nurses, camp followers, the spinsters left after the lost generation was ..well lost and maimed in WW1. (I think the 'invisible angel' brought that image to mind).
If I were to make a suggestion , maybe 'millennia' might sound better than mille(n)niums, perhaps?